25.
NO SPYING TRIAL
During a restful Saturday, Marina rang her parents, who were surprised and delighted to know that she was safely back in London – and even more excited by the prospect of getting together, at last, the next day. But otherwise, Marina had a quiet evening and an early night to readjust her time clock.
As Patricia had suggested, the Sunday lunch was booked by Victor Peters at a West End hotel; it was just the opportunity for Marina to catch up on all the events of the past few weeks with her father and mother and to reassure them, repeatedly, that she was not in any kind of trouble. Luckily, she had done enough online research about Quebec to be able to chat about the province, the weather and Canada in general. Victor Peters went on to tell his daughter about the visits he had received while she was away – from the Russian Embassy, from MI5 and from several reporters – and she apologised for being the cause of so much trouble. It was clear that he and his brother were actually quite flattered by the story in the paper about the success of Peters Brothers and how the business had been started by their father, a penniless refugee from Russia in the 1930s.
“And I told them all how proud I was of your successes over the years and how it had just been your friendly nature which had led to all this business with the Russian officer,” he added.
“What did the man from the Russian embassy want?” she enquired.
“He was only interested in discovering where you were so that he could hear your side of the story about meeting the man from the Russian Navy ship. There was nothing I could tell him, so that was the end of that.”
Marina again sensed that there was more to her father’s connections with the Russian Embassy than he was telling her, so she changed the subject, and they went on to talk more about her trip to Canada and various family matters. She also sensed that a man dining alone, two tables away and reading his Sunday papers, was also keeping an eye on them – but he was “one of ours”, she decided, remembering Patricia’s advice. After a couple of hours together and a traditional English Sunday lunch, and with the excuse of jetlag, she said she needed to get some sleep before an important meeting the next day.
Back at the flat, she had a long phone chat with her friend Betty and said she hoped to be able to return to Portsmouth very soon, as soon as the trial of the Russian was over; she was hoping to hear news about this in a day or two.
“I’m assuming this is why I was asked to come back now,” she added – remembering to add that there had been much more of Canada she still wanted to see.
The kitchen in the apartment still had the basic supplies, with fresh milk and juice in the fridge and several frozen meals in the freezer. After a light meal and a good night’s sleep, Marina awoke in time to get breakfast, feeling somewhat apprehensive about the next stage in her saga of unexpected events. Patricia called soon after 8 am and duly arrived at her door at 9 am; they walked together to the MI5 headquarters in the Thameside building.
Tom and two of his colleagues were waiting in a conference room, and they all gave Marina a cheerful welcome back – with a joke about getting her own name back and another about how she had got a suntan in Canada. Then Tom began the meeting.
“A few things have been happening while you were away, Marina, and it was really useful that you were not being hounded by the press – or even the Russians – because it has been a sensitive time for all of us. The bottom line is that there is not going to be a trial and you won’t have to give evidence after all.”
Marina’s eyes widened, and she gave an audible sigh of relief as Tom continued:
“This is all very hush-hush, of course, but in the next couple of days, Nikolai Aldanov will be flown out of the country. We have arranged to do a spy swap with the Russians, exchanging him for one of our diplomats who has been detained in Moscow for nearly two months on a false suspicion of spying. As it turns out, this is an arrangement which suits both sides – not least because the Russians would be very embarrassed if all the details of your online relationship with Aldanov came out in court. I don’t think that would really be any good for us, either – or for you. And we get our man back as well, which will be good news for the Foreign Office. How does that sound?”
“Well, that is all very unexpected,” said Marina, slowly and thoughtfully. “I had no idea that it might work out like this, but I must say it’s a big relief. Obviously, the thought of giving evidence against Nikolai has been on my mind constantly, and I kept thinking about how I would handle any cross-examination because he would be there listening and looking at me. I now realise that I was quite stupid in telling him so much personal stuff. So what will happen next?”
Tom replied, “As soon as we have confirmation that Aldanov is on his way to Moscow, I think you can relax and go back to your parents’ home or back to Portsmouth, as you wish. We have stayed in touch with your people in the Navy, and although they don’t know any of this latest plan, they have said that your job there is waiting for you when you are ready.”
“When the swap is completed, the Foreign Office will put out a statement to explain what has happened and why Aldanov will not face a trial in this country. It is inevitable that when that happens, the press will be after you again. Patricia will arrange for you to have a session with our PR people later today or tomorrow to advise you on how to handle it, what you can say and what you can’t say. Does that sound okay?”
“Yes, of course, and thank you. I understand,” replied Marina, who had tears in her eyes as she left the meeting with Patricia and walked to the staff canteen for a welcome cup of coffee.
26.
THE SPY SWAP
Very early on the following morning, a surprised and bewildered Nikolai Aldanov was taken from his prison cell by two armed escorts to a waiting van and was driven out of the city to Northolt military airport, where they all boarded a waiting plane. As it took off into the dawn sky, he had no idea where he was heading. Was it for more questioning? By whom? Even Guantanamo Bay flashed through his mind.
At about the same time in Moscow, Charles Alexander was woken up by the doorbell ringing insistently at his bachelor flat – one of many rented by the British Embassy for diplomats. His visitor, a Russian army officer, said in his best broken English, “Pack your luggage, we are leaving in one hour.”
Charles was also bewildered, assuming that his house arrest was being replaced by a prison cell or even worse. He dressed, found his suitcases and started packing his belongings as quickly as he could. The Russian officer watched to see whether he was taking anything other than his clothes and toiletries. He was told to leave his laptop computer, and his briefcase was searched before he was allowed to take it – fortunately Embassy rules did not allow staff to take any confidential material away from the office. Then, with no formality, he was escorted down to the street and helped into a waiting black vehicle with an armed guard.
A dozen horrific thoughts flashed through his mind as he was driven away at speed through the morning traffic with sirens screaming.
After about 30 minutes, he could see that he was arriving at a well-guarded military establishment and was surprised to see, soon afterwards, that it was an airfield. The vehicle stopped by a Russian air force transport plane. He was hustled on board to a bleak seating area with just four uncomfortable canvas seats and found himself seated between two stern-looking Russians in civilian clothes, who remained incommunicative, apart from grunting a few words to each other from time to time.
At around midday, two planes landed within ten minutes of each other at a Finnish air force base not far from Helsinki. Waiting there in a small terminal building were senior intelligence chiefs from the local embassies of Russia and Great Britain, who had been through this process a few times before. Aldanov and Alexander were each brought into the building by their escorts, together with their belongings – the British man with his two suitcases and a briefcase, the Russian with just a plastic bag containing the few items he had with h
im in his prison cell in London. They stood, one at each end of the room, as the officials went through the procedures of checking the identities of the two men. Little was said until they were each told to walk forward. As they passed each other, in the middle of the room, they exchanged glances and half-smiles which spoke volumes – “free at last.”
Each was greeted by a handshake from his own Government representative, and with few words being spoken, they were each escorted to the aircraft which would take them home. They realised that they had been involved in a very efficient, if rather scary, diplomatic swap, and as they relaxed in their aircraft seats ready for take-off, they both wanted to cheer and say thank you – but in both cases, there were only the military escorts plus the respective aircrews on board, going busily about their duties.
For each of them, their flights back – one to Northolt and the other to Moscow with no more than a cup of aircrew coffee – were an opportunity to at least thank their lucky stars and prepare for the welcome that would await them when they landed.
Later the same day, the Foreign Office issued its press release which astonished the editors who received it in London and across the country:
“In a co-operative arrangement with the Russian Government, it has proved possible to carry out an exchange today of a Russian agent who was arrested in Portsmouth two months ago with a British diplomat who has been under house arrest in Moscow for some three months.
The exchange took place at an airfield in Finland, and we are grateful to the Finnish Government for their assistance in enabling this operation to take place.
Those involved were Charles Alexander, a member of the diplomatic service, who had been serving at the British Embassy in Moscow until he was arrested on false spying charges, and Nikolai Aldanov, the Russian agent who was arrested when he arrived in Portsmouth on board the RS Admiral Essen. We are pleased to welcome Mr. Alexander back home after his ordeal, and he will resume his duties at the Foreign Office in due course.”
The news editors of London’s national press and the various broadcasting organisations quickly recognised this as the final stage of the long-running story about the Russian lieutenant and his girlfriend – and instructions went out again to “find the girl.”
27.
BACK HOME
After her final meeting with MI5 on Monday morning, Marina was met again by Patricia, and over a coffee in the canteen, Patricia said that Tom had asked her to pass on a message that he had been serious when he had mentioned a possible future for her with the intelligence service if she was still interested. She added, “He says we should let the dust settle for a month or two, and then we will be in touch. Meanwhile, if you have the time, he said have a few more Russian lessons.”
They then went together to the office of an officer who was introduced as Dennis Winters, the information officer at MI5, who outlined the way in which Marina should deal with any press inquiries in the coming days and weeks. “Just stick to the facts that you got caught up in all this because you were looking on line for friends and that you had no idea that your contact was anything other than a naval officer,” he explained. “You can insist there was no thought of secret information passing between the two of you and that you were disappointed by the way it worked out. And now you are returning to your job with the Royal Navy. Just stick to that, and I will leave it to you how much personal information you want to share.”
Marina said she understood and asked a few questions about how much information had already appeared in the press? Mr. Winters summarised the statements that had been issued and added that there had also been quite a lot of speculation. He also said she would get quite a lot of calls asking for interviews and might also be offered a payment for her exclusive story. It would be entirely up to her to decide how to respond, but to remember that her role in the whole affair was very “low level” as far as the department was concerned. “The less you say, the easier it will be,” he said finally.
As they left, Patricia remembered to give Marina the keys to her flat in Portsmouth and said they had not been needed. Then, with a friendly hug, she said goodbye and wished her well.
She felt cheerful again as she walked back to the “safe” flat and packed her belongings. Then she made a quick call to her father in Putney to say she was on her way to visit them. Because of her luggage, she took a taxi, and on the way, she began thinking about the exciting new future career that had been suggested and wondered where she could find Russian lessons.
She was there in time for lunch, and to her parents’ great surprise, she explained what had happened that morning and that, as a consequence, she was no longer required as a witness in a big trial of a Russian spy. Therefore, she was on her way back to Portsmouth to resume her normal life – after a far from normal few weeks.
Victor and Shona Peters were reassured by the conversation because their lives had also been disrupted for weeks with visits from the police, the security services and the man from the Russian Embassy. After a relaxed lunch, Marina kissed her mother goodbye, and Victor drove Marina to Clapham Junction to catch a train to Portsmouth.
On the way, she tried to rehearse how she would answer calls from the press. She also made a list of all the people she now needed to contact once she had settled back into her Southsea flat: there was the helpful solicitor, Jeremy Scott, and his boss David Barclay-Smith; there was Betty, of course, and her friend Susie Mann – and Susie’s parents, Admiral and Mrs. Mann; then there was her boss at the Navy Communications Office in the Dockyard to discover when to go back to work at last. So what else? There was shopping to do to restock her food store after so long away, and goodness knows what the state of her refrigerator contents might be? It was going to be back to the basics of her life again, a period of readjustment after being looked after at the MI5 flat in London and the CIA facility in Florida, not to mention the unforgettable night at the Ritz Carlton and the comfort of business class flights with BA.
At Portsmouth and Southsea station, she soon found a taxi to take her back to the familiar block of flats near the seafront. Fortunately, the press had given up watching for her return, and the final press release from the Foreign Office was about to be distributed that same evening. She found the key which opened the door to the lobby and the lift took her to the second floor and her own front door. The empty flat seemed welcoming after so long away, and she was just starting to unpack her luggage when the doorbell rang. It was, as she expected, her friendly neighbour.
“I thought we had lost you!” said Mrs. Watkins when Marina opened the door. “I just heard you arrive and it is lovely to see you again. There has been so much going on here, and we have all been very worried for you, especially after reading the papers. Are you all right?”
“Yes, thank you,” said Marina. “I’ve had a lot going on, too, but now it is all over, and I just want to get back to normal again. I will tell you all about it one day, but right now I have to settle in, then go to the shop for some groceries while they are still open and make a few phone calls and other things. It has been weeks since I was here and I am sure I have to do some tidying up and then check the state of everything, especially the fridge.”
Mrs. Watkins got the message and understood why Marina politely excused herself from an invitation to go next door for a cup of tea. “Let me know if I can help. I will see you tomorrow, if that’s okay,” she said as Marina closed her door.
After unpacking and hanging up her clothes, Marina turned her attention to the kitchen and soon filled a bin bag with much of the contents of her refrigerator. She worked out what she needed from the nearby one-stop shop and decided that this must be her next job. She put on her shoes again and a winter-weight coat, picked up her shopping bag and set off to walk the two blocks to buy the essentials she needed to see her through the next couple of days.
As she came back, she remembered to check her mailbox in the lobby. It was quite full, and she managed to fit a pile of correspondence, brochures
and flyers into one of her shopping bags to take back to her flat. There, she put the kettle on and packed away her shopping. She made a cup of tea and started to look at her mail.
Apart from the usual junk mail, there were bills to be opened, a few personal letters and one large brown envelope which looked official – perhaps something from the Navy about my job, she thought as she pulled open the well-sealed flap ….
Immediately, a cloud of white powder flew into her face and over her neck and her bare arms. It stung, and she quickly realised that this was something serious and not some sort of practical joke. Trying to wipe her face clean and with her eyes tingling, she staggered to the phone and dialled 999.
28.
THE CRIME SCENE
Chief Constable Terence Hardy, head of the Portsmouth City Police, was at home, getting changed out of uniform and preparing for guests expected for dinner when his phone rang. It was a somewhat agitated Paul Maggs, his CID chief.
“Sorry sir, but this is important… You need to know that we have an attempted murder on our hands, and it’s another stage in that Russian spy story.”
This quickly alerted the chief to take the call seriously. He thought the whole thing had ended with the Foreign Officer statement about the spy exchange. He listened alertly as Maggs began to outline the events of the past two hours, which, he said, had begun with the return of Marina Peters to her flat in Southsea, also believing that the episode was now over.
The Russian Lieutenant Page 13
